


Love is a Dark and Splendid Thing

by sv_you_know_who_I_am



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: 69ing, Aftercare, Bondage, F/M, Light Bondage, Lingerie, Masturbation, Modern AU, Morning Sex, NSFW, Oral, Phone Sex, Public Sex, Reunion Sex, Smut, Wings, blindfold, daemati magic, feysand smut week, lingerie shop, safeword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sv_you_know_who_I_am/pseuds/sv_you_know_who_I_am
Summary: This is a collection of fics written for Feysand Smut Week. Each chapter has a prompt and will be rated either E or M. They are very lot on plot but heavy on smut. You have been warned! ;)





	1. Blood Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 1 -- In Public: In which Feyre and Rhys decide to find out if it's true that luck comes to those who couple under the Blood Moon.
> 
> Prompt 2 -- Lingerie: In which Sarah finally writes a scene in the lingerie shop.
> 
> Prompt 3 -- Morning Sex: In which Rhys tries to wake up a sleep Feyre with his usual tricks.
> 
> Prompt 4 -- Reunion Sex: In which Rhys tries to prove his skill with daemati magic and win a bet against Cassian.
> 
> Prompt 5 -- Masturbation: In which Rhys surprises Feyre by "posing" for her after a painting session.
> 
> Prompt 6 -- Phone Sex: In which Feyre and Rhys talk dirty on the phone after a hard day of work (Modern AU).
> 
> BONUS -- A smutty sequel to Chapter 6: In which Rhys fixes Feyre a special drink.
> 
> Prompt 7 -- Blindfold/Wing King: In which Feyre and Rhys take some time alone in the cabin and Rhys suggests something new for them to try.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starfall is not the only Night Court holiday, but the rarer Blood Moon is celebrated a little bit differently than the rest. Rated M.

It was the night of the Blood Moon, and the people of Velaris were out in droves like I had never seen them before.

The Blood Moon was a rare event--unlike other eclipses the Blood Moon that was celebrate occurred when the moon was at its largest and brightest. When the shadow of the world fell across it, some swore they could see the face of the Mother staring down at them.

As the city readied for the festivities, I could tell that this was to be no Starfall. Instead of finery and champagne, citizens were buying up outfits cut even more daring than usual, in tones of red, black, and silver. It was the first time I’d seen Velaris display even a shade of the Court of Nightmares, and it unsettled me.

“Don’t worry,” Mor assured me. “They might look a little more fearsome, but no one does any harm under the Blood Moon.”

“It reminds me on Calanmai,” I confessed, looking out over the city from my room.

Mor cocked her head and hummed in understanding. “You know we’re not like those beasts.”

I turned and smiled at her. “Yes, I know. It’s just new. I learn more about this court every day.”

“Speaking of new . . .” Mor reached into a box on my bed and unfurled sleek, ebony fabric. “Your dress for the night.”

I reached out and ran my hands over the dress, and it spilled like ink over my fingers. “Oh, Mor. It’s exquisite.”

She grinned in satisfaction. “I knew you’d think so.”

We spent hours getting dressed, drinking, and preparing each other for the festivities. The men were doing the same elsewhere, and aside from a few prods to check in with each other, Rhys and I let one another be. He had promised to show me the city later during the celebrations, and I would let him.

It was well after dark before Mor and I left the townhome and strolled through the streets. Her red gown clung to her curves like it was painted on, and daring slits ran over both sides of the skirt. Her neck dripped with jewelry and her hair was twisted in a knot at the top of her head before cascading in a waterfall of gold. My dress was even less modest, as there were cutouts on the waist and a plunging neckline to match. I no longer felt self-conscious in such things, and the dress was too fine to remind me of anything worn in the Court of Nightmares.

We made it down to the pier, which Mor insisted was the best view of the Moon. It was already bright against the sky, lighting the city in milky hues.

Mor waved to someone, and I looked over her shoulder to see Cassian and Azriel approaching from the end of the pier. My eyes passed over them and fell on Rhys, who was obscured in shadow from where he casually leaned against a small building jutting out from the center of the pier.

I blinked as he winnowed over to us, stopping less than an arm’s length away from me. “Hello, Feyre darling,” he said, making no attempt to be subtle as his eyes dragged up and down my body. “Is the High Lady ready for her first Blood Moon?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Am I supposed to do anything?”

Rhys smirked. “Not unless you want to.”

My brow furrowed at his cryptic answer, but I stopped thinking about it when he took my tattooed hand in his, placing a kiss to the back of it. “It will start soon,” he said, gesturing to the other end of the pier. A crowd of people was starting to surge down, all trying to get the best place. Cassian and Azriel stepped forward, prepared to stave off the group, but Rhys said, “Let them come. This is a night for everyone.”

Music began from somewhere I could not detect, and Rhys pulled me close as we began to dance. It was not the same kind of music as Starfall--it was deeper, darker, more intimate but not threatening. It struck me similar to the music played at the Summer Solstice in the Spring Court, but this chord struck true, filling me more completely than any of that music had.

“You look incredible,” Rhys said as he spun me close to his body, arms crossed over my waist. I could feel the warmth of him seeping into my skin where my dress left it exposed.

“It’s a different look than I’m used to seeing in Velaris,” I admitted.

Rhys bit his lip, and the sight took my breath away. “It’s because people tend to celebrate the Blood Moon in . . . different ways than usual.” He caught my thoughts and said, “It’s not as primal as Calanmai. It’s entirely optional. But . . . people think coupling under the Blood Moon is good luck.”

My whole body went hot at the thought of it, but I tried not to let him catch on. I stared at him and said, “Do you?”

My efforts to disguise my emotions hadn’t worked. Rhys’s violet eyes sparked and he pulled me close enough to whisper in my ear, “Coupling with _you_ is always good luck to me,” he purred.

I melted at his breath on my ear and grabbed his chin to pull his mouth to mine. He was startled at my insistence, but he fell into our kiss eagerly, his hands sliding down my body to grip my hips. Our tongues had only just started to tangle when the music stopped and gasps rippled through the crowd. Rhys spun me around so that my back was pressed to his chest, and then he pointed up at the sky.

The Blood Moon had begun. Behind us, the dancing resumed among some, but I could feel that other couples had decided to stand and watch the spectacle, too.

Rhys’s hand roved in circles over my stomach, one hand still pressed flush against my hip. I was barely aware of the crowd of bodies surrounding us, so beautiful was the sight of the moon turning red over the water and so intimate was the feeling of my mate’s hands on me. Every so often, he pressed a kiss to my ear or my throat, and sometimes his knuckles ran up and down the line of my waist. Just in the way that made me crave more.

“Are you trying to get me into trouble?” I asked, my voice slightly strained.

I felt Rhys grin beside my ear. “Define trouble.” His hand over my stomach slipped through one of the cutouts until his palm was spread over my navel.

“Trouble. Definition--whatever it is you’re planning right now.”

I shuddered all over my body as Rhys ran his tongue up the side of my neck. “You know exactly what I’m planning.”

“In front of all these people?” I asked, but I was stunned to find that the thought thrilled me instead of disturbed me.

“If you’d like. I could take you home, but they’ll notice we left.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint our people.”

Rhys’s hand trailed lower beneath my dress. “If it makes you feel any better,” he breathed, “we’re hardly the only ones doing it.” One finger trailed over where I was most sensitive, and I bucked against him. He stood strong and did not waver. Instead, his left hand rose to caress the curve of my breast, and my head feel back against his shoulder. I tried to position my body so that it looked like I was simply reclining against him as I watched the moon, but in reality I was trying to move my hips closer to his hand.

“That does make me feel better,” I gasped. “But I think you know what would make me feel even better right now.”

Rhys chuckled darkly. “That I do.”

And at last, his hand slid down, finger stroking a long line up between my legs. I quivered and bit back a moan as his fingers teased me, only dancing at the edges of me. “Rhys,” I said, squirming again. “Before the Blood Moon’s over, if you please.” I had stopped caring entirely about the crowd around us--didn’t care that they could probably smell us, guess what we were really up to. We were their High Lord and High Lady. It was hardly up to them to judge. And Rhys was stringing me along and I could not have that.

Rhys’s teeth bit down on my earlobe as he plunged his fingers inside me. I choked on a moan as he moved in and out, in time with his other hand, which gently flicked at my peaked nipple through my dress. “There’s my darling,” he murmured, tracing the edge of my ear with his tongue. “Dance for me.”

So I did. I moved my body over his hand, losing myself entirely to the sensation of him inside me. I writhed and squeezed as he languidly stroked me, going slow and not hard for once. He wanted to draw this out. My hand reached behind me to cling to the back of his neck, and one of my feet searched for purchase against his knee as I raised my leg to change the angle.

“I thought you wanted to be subtle,” Rhys purred, teasing me terribly. I reluctantly lowered my leg, but he said in our minds, _Don’t get me wrong . . . it’s utterly intoxicating._

 _Rhys_ , I moaned back.

_Very well, darling. Lest you think I don’t care about your pleasure._

He thrust his fingers into me once more and flicked my most sensitive spot with his thumb, and my knees went weak as my climax rocked me. His strong forearm braced my torso and kept me from slipping as he so expertly drew out my ecstasy. When I finished, gasping, he drew his fingers away, keeping them close to our bodies so the evidence of our act wouldn’t be obvious to everyone. But I grabbed his wrist as it passed by and drew his hand to my mouth. Making it seem as though I was simply kissing his hand, I licked the slickness off his fingers, and I heard him growl behind me. _I’m taking you home later_ , he promised. _And I’ll be the one to taste you._

 _As you wish, High Lord_ , I said. _Would you like a taste now?_

I spun in his arms and he raised his eyebrows. I grasped the back of his head and pulled him down to kiss me, letting him taste me just a little. I relished the heat in his body and the promises of more later. But for now, we could embrace, free and living under the watchful eye of the full Blood Moon above us.


	2. Ready If You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys and Feyre want to do some shopping together, but Feyre decides she’s not the only one who will be trying things on. Rated E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2: Lingerie

The bell tinkled above us as Rhys and I slipped into our favorite shop across the Sidra. The shop lady behind the counter caught my eyes, gave me a well-meaning smile and an entertained shake of her head, and starting shooing the other young workers to tidy things up and leave as soon as possible.

The High Lord and High Lady wanted some alone time.

I was thankful that they were so good-natured about it. It helped that Rhys and I were always sure to spend at least as much as they were sure to make in the hours we occupied the shop, if not more. We did not count on our rank alone to purchase their good humor forever.

Rhys and I lingered casually by the counter. My mate’s elbow was propped up on the glass case and he watched me with a casual smirk on his face as the employees finished their tasks and set off. As soon as the bell clinked again, the blinds dropped down of their own accord and the deadlock switched shut. The sunlight through the closed blinds bathed the shop in the warm red-brown of late afternoon, and only a few small lamps scattered through the shop added much light.

Rhys moved immediately, coming around so that my back was to the counter and he towered over me. “What do you have the taste for today, darling?” he asked, walking two finger up my chest from my sternum to my chin. He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and drew me into a slow, sensual kiss.

“I have a few ideas,” I said when he broke away. Rhys didn’t know that I’d visited with Mor once recently, and I’d seen a few items that I was more than keen on seeing on a body.

“Do tell,” Rhys said softly. His finger traced up and down the hollow of my throat, and I had to swallow to regain my composure.

“What if you pick something out for me, and I pick something out for you?” I suggested, quirking one eyebrow up.

Rhys’s finger paused. “For me?” he asked.

“You can’t expect me to be the one getting dressed up all the time,” I teased. I placed both hands on his chest. “It may be gilding the lily, but . . . it’s worth a try.”

Rhys huffed out a laugh through his nose and then bent down to murmur in my ear. “Anything is worth a try if it pleases you, Feyre.”

I pushed him back and gestured to the store around us. “Have at it, High Lord. I’ll meet you in the back.”

Rhys flashed a wicked grin and then began to prowl through the racks of silk and lace. I darted off to another section of the store. My urgency was periodically interrupted whenever Rhys saw something he liked, as he would send me pictures in my mind of how he imagined I’d look in them. _Come now . . . I’m giving you a preview. Anything for me?_

I laughed. _No. You’ll just have to be patient._

I felt his arousal spark down the bond and it made my own pleasure coil in anticipation, but I had a task to complete. I tracked down the items I had scouted out before and hurried to the back room, where I placed them in a dressing room for him to put on.

Rhys was not far behind me, and he held his choice behind his back as he slipped into a different room and deposited them for me. He looked immensely pleased with himself as he left, and I met his mischievous look with one of my own. We slipped past each other, neither of us bothering to disguise our attraction, before entering our own dressing rooms to prepare.

I instantly loved what Rhys had picked out for me. The bra was deep blue like the night sky just after sunset, and it glittered with stars, too. It was almost transparent and left little to the imaginations--only star-shaped appliques over my nipples truly disguised anything. I was halfway through getting the g-string on when Rhys called, “Feyre . . . what is this?”

I grinned in delight, pleased he couldn’t see my face. “Be a little daring, Rhysand. It’s a fair trade. And I picked it out just for you.”

I could feel his confusion and intrigue over the bond, but I refocused on getting the rest of my rather complicated ensemble on. I made use of my magic to help with the garter belt--made of the same semi-transparent material as the bra and secured with indigo ribbons at my hips. Sheer stockings climbed up to my thighs, and Rhys had even picked out a pair of silver heels for me to put on, along with a necklace and pair of earrings that I was sure he’d brought with him from home. I turned to examine myself in the mirror, enjoying the plushness of my breasts and curves of my ass, knowing Rhys would appreciate them, too.

“Are you ready?” I called.

“If you are,” Rhys said.

I peeled away the curtain and stepped out, leaning languidly against the wall as Rhys emerged. He was nearly naked--except, of course, for the pair of tiny black shorts that clung to his hips and barely contained his manhood, along with the harness strapped across his chest.

I stared openly for a minute as I took in the sight of him like that. “I could get used to that,” I murmured. I reached out with a tendril of my darkness and looped around the harness that connected between his considerable tattooed pectorals. I drew him close to me, and any self-consciousness he might have felt evaporated as I drew him to a seat and bade him sit.

“As my High Lady commands,” Rhys purred, his eyes tracing every curve of me as I stood before him. He lifted the back of my hand to his lips and said, “Let me see you walk in it.”

I smiled at his usual request for a parade and obliged him. I walked slowly up and down the floor between the dressing rooms, letting him see me from every angle and then some as I was reflected in multiple mirrors. Then, I stopped before him, and he reached out to me.

I shook my head. “No, Rhys,” I said. “Let me entertain you.”

His face went slack and his nostrils flared as he watched my hand slide down my body between my breasts and down my abdomen, tracing over my garter belt before sliding my hand oh so slowly beneath my panties. I let out a satisfied sigh as I felt my own readiness, and I rubbed nice and slow to torment Rhys as he watched. “I’m so warm and wet,” I said. “If you could feel it, Rhys . . .”

“Let me,” he growled, almost lunging for me. I held out my hand to stop him, and his mouth went tight with desire and frustration.

I let out a self-satisfied whimper as I traced my own pleasure spot, but I had no intention of getting myself off without him. I just wanted to make him _really_ want it. My other hand massaged my breasts as I touched myself, and I licked my lips, locking eyes with my desperate mate and giving him a seductive smile.

“Feyre,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Feyre, darling . . . this outfit is beginning to get a little uncomfortable.”

I grinned wickedly at the tense bulge I saw in his shorts, and I sauntered over to him, lowering my head down to kiss him at the same time that I reached down and unclipped the hidden strap that held the crotch in place. Rhys let out a groan of relief in my mouth, but before I could pull away again, he snatched me by the waist and planted me on his lap, his length pressing up against my stomach.

Unwilling to let the chance pass by, I held him by one shoulder as my other hand--the one I’d been touching myself with--began to stroke up and down his cock, swirling my thumb over its head even as I rolled my hips in his lap.

“Feyre--” Rhys gasped, sweat beading on his brow. “Feyre! I’m going to--Cauldron boil me, I give up!” He launched at me then, tackling me to the ground and pinning me there, trapping both my wrists in one of his hands while the other nimbly rolled my panties down my thighs. When he had enough room, he pounded into me and I cried out in pleasure. I hadn’t realized how close I was myself, not until my mate was inside me, filling me.

Rhys covered me completely, the straps of his harness biting into the skin of my chest as he devoured my neck, my throat, as he pounded into me again and again. My legs locked around his back and I moved to his rhythm. The blood rushed through me and my face heated--it was a brutal pace, but I loved every second of it.

Rhys’s mouth dove below my neck and he slid aside one panel of my bra to suck on my breast, nipping at the sensitive skin there just slightly. I groaned as we rocked together. He’d released my hands and they now grappled at his shoulders, peeling away the harness so that there was one less layer between his heart and mine. He growled and nipped at my other breast. “Ready, darling?” he asked between labored breaths.

“If you are,” I gasped.

He thrust into me harder than he yet had, and my head fell back at the intensity of it. I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth, but my legs instinctively tightened around him. Another powerful thrust, and another, and then soon I was taut and tense all over as my climax rushed through me, holding him tight between my legs as we both reached our peaks together.

Rhys’s head collapsed onto my chest and I laced my fingers through his silken hair. He kissed me gently between my breasts, where my heart still raced. “I think we got a little carried away this time,” he muttered onto my skin.

“A little?” Usually we didn’t take things quite so far until we’d actually made it home with our purchases, but . . . today was an exception.

“We’ll need to spray a bit of perfume,” Rhys noted. He balanced his chin on my chest and looked into my eyes, his expression blissful.

“I think we can manage,” I said. I sat up and he pulled out and away with me. I glanced around and said, “I think we could probably afford to make some extra purchases for the trouble.”

Rhys caught my meaning immediately and grinned like a cat. “I think we can most certainly spare the expense. In fact, I saw a few other things I might like to see you in.” He looked over at his discarded harness and said, “Though I think I may have hit my purchase limit for the day.”

I laughed and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Whatever you say, Rhys.” Then I took his hand and we stood up together, eager to continue our shopping for the rest of the afternoon.


	3. The Best Way to Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is not a morning person and needs some help waking up. Rhys POV. Rated M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Feysand Smut Week. Prompt #3 was Morning Sex.

 

 

I woke to golden sunlight pouring into our bedroom in the Velaris townhome. Granules of dust floated in the air, reflecting the sunlight to look like glowing stars in the day. It was a warm summer day, and a gentle breeze blew in through the window, bringing with it the songs of birds and the gentle crash of the sea against the pier not far away.

Feyre shifted beside me, burying her forehead deeper into the crook between my neck and shoulder. The morning light caught her brassy hair, turning it into spun gold spilling over her milky skin. A beam of it anointed her freckles, and my heart stuttered as I saw her smile in her sleep, her fingers clinging to my chest.

She was so beautiful.

One of my arms was tucked beneath her head, but the other was free to move, so I pushed some of her hair behind her elegantly pointed ear. I pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing in the sweet scent of her and praising the Mother that such a heavenly creature could be mine.

She snuggled closer, squeezing her eyes shut against the insistent sun, but from the twitch of her nose I knew she was awake. I bent my head down to block out the sun and stretched out one of my wings over us to help in the effort. “Good morning, darling,” I murmured, placing the tiniest of kisses on her nose. Feyre mumbled and buried deeper into the dark.

I loved this--loved her. Feyre was notoriously bad with mornings, which proved even more that she was meant to be the Queen of Night. Thankfully for her, I had no trouble taking my time getting out of bed in the mornings, either.

“Not ready to leave sleep behind?” I asked, gently holding her chin between my thumb and forefinger. She shook her head and mumbled again. “We could always pretend it’s still night,” I said, letting my finger drop to her throat and then down her chest over the silken nightgown she wore. She shuddered and finally cracked an eye open.

“That’s one way to wake me up,” she muttered, but the smile remained on her lips. She lifted her head to kiss me on the lips, and my blood stirred just at the morning-fresh scent of her. She whispered in my ear, “I’m still not quite awake.”

My hand, which had stilled just below her bust, continued its journey southward, until I found the lace band of the panties she wore beneath her nightgown. My eyes locked on her, I stroked my fingers slowly up and down her until she closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure. “Does that feel good, darling?” I asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied, pressing her body closer to mine. Her lazy kisses found my throat. I watched her hand rise up and I knew what she was planning only a second before her fingers traced the membrane of the wing held over us. I grunted and shuddered, but Feyre was already moving her hips against my fingers, guiding me where to rub. She was so perfect, so soft--I hadn’t planned on getting too carried away this morning, but Feyre seemed plenty eager. The arm that I rested beneath our heads curled in and cradled her against me as she wickedly traced another finger down my wing. I let out an incoherent grumble as the tension went straight to my core, and she chuckled when she felt me pressing against her.

“Well, now _I_ need something to help me wake up,” I scolded, and she giggled as her hand sank down between us and pushed my hand away from her. She grabbed me instead and rolling onto her back so that I had to balance over her. My arm was numb, but I could barely focus on that as she guided me into her, letting me fill her soft, perfect spaces with the length she had awoken with two simple touches.

We had no desire to go fast, so I bent down and kissed her deeply as I rolled my hips against her, relishing the feeling of being inside of her, my mate. Feyre--my perfect fit. Whether we were making love or holding each other or fighting side by side, we fit together as though made for each other, and I wanted never to go back to those years when I’d thought I’d never have something like that.

I pushed away the hair from her forehead with one hand as we moved together. I grit my teeth as the tension increased, and soon Feyre became more insistent as she bucked her hips against mine in our slow but heady rhythm. “Almost there, Rhys,” she breathed against my mouth. “Just a little more.”

“I’m happy to oblige,” I replied, my voice rough with pleasure. I trailed kisses over her jaw and to her ear, and at the same time that I bit down on my earlobe, I thrust deep into her, relishing the cry of pleasure that burst from Feyre’s pink lips. It was everything--to know that I could give her that, to know that the look of bliss on her face was because of _me_. Feyre’s hand gripped my shoulder as she finished, and the breathless gasps she elicited were so beautiful, so erotic, that I was overcome, too, and I spilled myself inside her, trembling as the release rocked me.

I rolled onto my side, wrapping my arms securely around my mate and holding her to my chest. “Awake now?” I asked, beads of sweat clinging to my brow.

“Unfortunately,” Feyre said, pressing her cheek to my chest and tracing my tattoos with her fingers. Then she turned and snatched a kiss from my mouth. “But that’s my favorite way to wake up.”

I laughed and held her close. “Mine too, darling. Mine, too.”


	4. The Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhys have been apart, but when Rhys gets back, he confesses that Azriel and Cassian have a bet concerning his . . . performance. And his magic. Rated M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4 was Reunion Sex. Also, the bit of “Illyrian” in this is the phonetic (non-Cyrillic) spelling of the phrase in Serbian. Because I decided that the Illyrian language was Slavic, for reasons.

 

 

I winnowed back to my room in Velaris, taking a deep breath of the cool, sea-licked air. I had just been visiting the Day Court, and the hot, dry, sun-baked environment had made me long for the crisp breezes of my home. The Day Court was lovely, filled with golds and coppers and ivories, but the sheen of sweat that layered my skin every time I visited made it harder to enjoy the beautiful scenery. It had been a necessary trip--as High Lady, it was part of my responsibility now to maintain positive relations with our nearest neighbors and establish appropriate border protocol.

Lord Helion was amenable and he’d given me tours of his libraries, even sending me with a few of his books as a token of good faith. Still, I had been there alone, as Rhys had had other duties to attend to among the Illyrians. He’d taken Azriel and Cassian with him, so whatever it was had to be important. He’d mentioned it to me before leaving, but my mind was so muddied from the heat at this moment that I couldn’t quite recall the purpose. As far as I knew, it was a routine drill session. Not as important as the negotiations with Day, Rhys had told me, but I wasn’t sure if he said that only to flatter me or not.

“Not at all,” Rhys purred, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whirled around and glared at him where he leaned against the doorpost.

“Poking around in my head again?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest.

Rhys shrugged one shoulder. “No more than usual.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded. I crossed the room to him and took his hands in mine, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I missed you,” I said.

He smiled and rested his forehead against mine as he ran his thumbs over the back of my hand. “I missed you too,” he said. It had been two weeks since we’d seen each other, though we’d communicated over the bond at least one a day in the interim. Sometimes the conversations had been short as our attentions had been called elsewhere, though. I had missed hearing his voice with my ears and holding his hands with mine.

I sniffed and made a face. “You stink like an Illyrian. Go take a bath.”

Rhys laughed and my heart fluttered in response. “You have a certain _znojavi miris_ yourself.” I stuck my tongue out at him, recognizing the Illyrian words for ‘sweaty smell.’ I’d picked up some of the language while training with Cassian and Azriel, and they frequently yelled at each other about smelling bad or throwing a weak punch. Most of my Illyrian vocabulary was comprised of curse words.

“Fine. We’ll both take a bath,” I said, whacking him on the chest with the back of my hand.

“Together or apart?” Rhys’s eyes glinted in mischief.

I looked him up and down. “Apart. I think I currently have sand in unpleasant places.”

Rhys laughed again, and then he turned to go rid himself of his own Illyrian body odor. I went to my bathroom and relished in the sweet-smelling bath that was drawn up for me. After a nice long soak, I wrung out my hair and dried off, donning a light robe and slippers before making my way over to the room I shared with Rhysand. I heard him finishing up in his bathroom, so I sat on the bed and waited, curling one leg in front of my body and rolling my shoulders.

He emerged with nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. He ran his hand through his hair and glanced up at me, smirking in satisfaction at my gaping.

“I’d tell you to cover up, but I really don’t want you to,” I said bluntly.

He chuckled and came over to kiss the top of my head. “Nice to know I can still have that effect on you after all this time.”

He sat across from me on the bed and knelt there, the towel still firmly in place. “How was your trip?” he asked. “Did Helion cooperate?”

“Perfectly,” I said. “I had to haggle a little, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Darling, you can charm the socks off anyone you meet, so I am not the least bit surprised.” The look of pride on his face made my heart flutter.

“What about you?” I asked. “Everything all right with the Illyrians?”

Rhys groaned and rolled his eyes. “They’re a handful after awhile,” he said. “I might have grown up with them, but Valeris is far more to my taste.” He stroked a finger along my cheek and I smiled.

“Well, neither of us have any place to be for a while, at least,” I said.

Rhys raised his eyebrows grinned slyly. “That we don’t.” He leaned forward and captured my lips with his, and this time I melted into him, letting him pull me in deeper when he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. “You taste so wonderful, darling,” he breathed against my lips. I cradled his face between my hands and stroked his cheekbones with my thumbs. “Cauldron boil me, I missed kissing you.”

I couldn’t answer because he resumed our kiss, and it quickly became deeper as our mouths open to each other and we exchanged breaths. I rose up on my knees to press my body closer to him, but Rhys didn’t let me stay that way for long. He lowered me onto my back, covering me with his muscular torso and sweeping my legs out so that they weren’t trapped beneath me. He just kissed and kissed and kissed me, on my mouth, long my jaw, on my ears, down my throat . . . all I could do was cling to him, my fingers nearly digging grooves on his back.

“I have a confession to make,” Rhys said as my layered my neck with kisses.

“Hmm?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the canopy above us.

“Azriel and Cassian have a bet going. About us.”

I laughed. “Why am I not surprised? What’s the bet, and who’s on what side?”

Rhys hovered above me, and his eyes burned with ardor. Then he lowered down to whisper roughly in my ear, “They want to know if I can make you come without laying a finger on you. Daemati magic only.”

I gasped and my head thudded back onto the pillow. “Oh.” I breathed. I was torn between being pissed that Cassian and Azriel were sticking their nose into our bedroom and being extremely intrigued by the suggestion. “Were you bragging or something?”

Rhys’s tongue darted out to taste my neck, and I shuddered. “Maybe,” he admitted.

I flexed my jaw. Filthy Illyrians. “Tell me who’s on what side of the bet, and then I’ll decide if I’ll let you try.”

“Cassian says I can’t. Azriel says I can.”

I grinned wickedly and tugged his ear down to my mouth. “Do your worst, High Lord.”

Rhys stiffened--he hadn’t expected me to actually agree to it. “Feyre--I’d have to go in deeper than I usually do.” I tried not to laugh at the double entendre, because he seemed completely serious.

“I trust you,” I said, kissing his nose. “But if _you_ don’t want to, I completely understand.”

Rhys shook his head. “No. I . . . I want to try. I’d like to see Cassian eat his words.” Rhys pulled up from me and sat back on his heels, and I shifted to look up at him. “And of course, it would be an utter delight to see you writhing at the mere thought of me.” He winked and I bit my lip, smiling the whole time.

I pulled myself up so I was more properly seated. “Clothes on or off first?” I asked. I wasn’t wearing much, but I left it up to him.

Rhys’s eyes glazed. “Off, if you please, darling.”

I took my time shrugging off my robe, and I heard him growl in approval. His eyes traced over my breasts and hips and legs as I reclined before him.

“You’re not going to make it easy not to touch you, are you?” Rhys asked, and I shook my head mischievously, giving my hips a little wiggle at the same time. He sighed and I could feel his desire on the bond. “Before I try this, I want you to decide on a word, something you can say to tell me to stop if it gets too invasive, or you’re uncomfortable in any way.”

“Velaris,” I said without needing to think about it. “If I say Velaris, I’m done, no matter where I’m at.” I considered this for a moment. “I might need you to take care of me the old fashioned way, then.”

Rhys chuckled. “Of course. Velaris it is. Are you ready?”

I nodded and relaxed, closing my eyes. Then I felt him reach out with his magic, approaching the opening in my mental shields that I left open only for him.

A little more room, love? His voice inside my mind was gentle, even cautious. I obliged him and opened the way a little wider, letting more of him filter in and fill me. Those mental talons that had so terrified me the first time I’d felt them seemed like feathers now, so carefully did he run them over and through my mind. My heart started beating faster, but I wasn’t sure if that was because of me or because of him. _That’s you, Feyre_ , Rhys said. _It does help things along, though._

Then I felt it. The latching, like that first time so long ago. And my body was his--my bones, my breath, my blood. He left my awareness alone, wanting me to fully experience the influence of his magic and still have the ability to tell him to stop if I needed to. _How are you doing, darling?_ he asked.

_I’m fine. I feel you everywhere._

_Good. Now for the fun part._

My already-rising pulse started to increase even more now as Rhys encouraged the blood in my veins to race faster, make me flush and my lungs start to work harder to breathe. Phantom fingers ran down each of my limbs all at once as though he was running a feather down them. I shuddered at the sensation, even as I swallowed with heightened anticipation. My tongue went dry and my toes and fingers curled as the tracing on my limbs ran over my again.

 _Are you sure you’re not touching me?_ I asked, resisting the urge to open my eyes and check.

It’s all in your head. I could hear the laughter in Rhys’s voice now. He seemed to have found his stride, and his magic worked through me with more confidence than it had at the start.

The feather-light feeling moved from my limbs to my chest, and I trembled as the tickling traced all the way down my torso to pause just above the joining of my legs. _Hold on_ , Rhys warned.

_For?_

A loud and reverent groan escaped my lips as Rhys made my core contract as it would around his fingers or his length. I could feel myself getting wet, swelling, _opening_. I panted for breath and squirmed as all the sensations hit me at once. My folds ached as though he was stroking them himself, reacting to the imaginary stimuli Rhys was sending through my body.

 _Feyre . . . you’re so incredible from this angle_ , Rhys said in my head. _I feel you. This is . . . Fuck, Feyre, I might get off before you do._

 _The view’s that good, hmm?_ I teased.

_You have no idea._

He sent another wave of tension through me, sent my hormones on a spiral until I could only gasp his name out loud. My fingers clutched the sheets and my head was thrown back. But the sound of his voice . . . I wanted to see him.

_Rhys. Let me look at you._

His relinquished control of that part of my body and I lifted my head, amazed to find that my knees were bent and I was spread wide before my mate. Rhys’s face was set in stone as he stared at my opening, studying it as though it was the key to the immortality we cherished together. I saw the jutting length of him beneath his towel, saw the way his hands trembled where they clutched his thighs. I whimpered and let my head fall back, sinking once more into the euphoria Rhys was stirring up within me.

I writhed on the bed, letting my blood flow where Rhys wanted it and letting him guide me along wherever he pleased. I gasped only once in pain, and Rhys checked in with me, only to have me assure him that I was fine and that he’d just nudged the wrong system.

 _What can I say? It’s complicated in here_ , he said. His voice was as ragged as mine was now, and I growled both out loud and in our minds.

_No excuses. I want to see Cassian shove it, too._

A wave of Rhys’s thrill and pleasure washed over me, both from the bond and his presence within my mind and body. He used it in combination with the ways he was already playing my body like an instrument. At long last, he triggered the perfect combination of sensations, and my climax ripped through my body, creating a sweet symphony from Rhys’s ministrations.

Rhys stayed with me in my mind until I was completely finished, and then he carefully withdrew. The moment my limbs were back under my own control, they fell limply to the bed. My eyes fluttered open and stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Feyre?” Rhys asked. “How do you feel?”

I just let out a pleased groan in response and he chuckled. He held out his hand and I gripped it with both of mine so he could pull me into a sitting position. Then he tugged me further until I was slouched against him, my head on his chest. He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head.

“Azriel wins,” Rhys said, his mouth twisting up in amusement.

“So do I,” I said, and he laughed openly at that. My hand drifted from his chest lower, to the stiffness hiding beneath his towel. “But . . . we are equals in everything.” I began to run my hand along his length through the towel.

“Do go on,” Rhys said, his voice tight.

“I would hate it,” I said, refusing to let up, “if you didn’t win just as much as I did tonight.” I turned my head up to kiss his chin at the same time that I wrapped my hand around him. He let out a choked groan.

“Show me how it’s done, High Lady?” he asked, nuzzling my neck.

I rose up on my weak knees and kissed him full on the mouth. “It would be my pleasure.”


	5. Touch and Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre comes in from painting outside and finds Rhys posing for her. Rated E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5 was Masturbation.

 

I walked into the living room of the cabin and found Rhys stark-naked on the couch with wings spread out on either side of him and a devilish smirk on his face.

“Rhys! What on earth?” I demanded stopping in my tracks and throwing a hand over my face on instinct. I’d just finished doing some painting outside and I had been far from prepared to see that sight so suddenly.

“Feyre, darling,” he said. “I was just thinking about you.”

I lowered my hand from my face and watched, slack-jawed, as his finger brushed up and down his stiff cock. It was casual, teasing, but I saw him shudder with pleasure as he touched himself. “What are you doing?” I asked hoarsely.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Rhys purred. My eyes locked on that finger traveling back and forth.

“For the Cauldron’s sake, why do you have to be so attractive?” I hissed, tearing my eyes away. My face was as red as the paints I carried in a kit at my side.

Rhys laughed, low and seductive. “It’s a blessing and a curse.” He sucked in a breath as he changed the pattern of his stroking, adding a finger without ever taking his eyes from me.

My legs clenched together as I felt my own desire start to rise within me. I dropped my painting kit on a low table and crossed the room toward him, but he held up his free hand to stop me in my tracks. “I want you to watch,” he rasped, and I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch.

I sank to my knees before him. My mouth was like parchment, but I longed to wrap it around his incredible length, to take over the task he had assigned himself.

“Close your eyes,” Rhys said, and I reluctantly obeyed. Then, down the bond and through the sliver in my shields, he sent me an erotic image of me, splayed out underneath him and squirming, pleading with him to fuck me, sweat covering my body and my hair sticking to my skin. My own voice filled my head with my pants of pleasure, and I clapped my hands to my face and groaned as Rhys slowly drew the image away. “That’s what I think of whenever I do this,” he whispered hoarsely. “You . . . under me. _Begging_ me, Feyre. Your smell, your--” He choked on his words as he gripped his shaft and started to work himself up even more. I looked up and whimpered at the arousal on his face and the intensity with which he stared at me. His hand rubbed at a swift pace, now, and a bead of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

“Rhys,” I moaned. “Rhys, let me, please. I see. I see you. Let me help.”

Rhys grunted. “I’m close, darling.”

“I don’t care!” I cried, shaking my head. “I want to taste you!”

Rhys inhaled raggedly and ground out, “Then be my guest, Feyre.”

Thus unleashed, I lunged forward and knocked his hand aside, wrapping my own fingers along his swollen length and closing my lips around the head. I moaned at the feeling of it. Rhys’s hands gripped my shoulders, and the slight pain only aroused me more. I swirled my tongue around him and he swore, but I did not let up. I sucked and kissed and rubbed, wanting to be the one to take my mate over, to have him go crying out my name.

I then took him as deep in my mouth as I could and gripped him firmly, though not enough to be painful. Rhys’s fingers tightening around my shoulders was the only warning I had before he spilled himself in my mouth. The split second I’d had to prepare had been enough for me to swallow, and the exquisite taste of him sent euphoria racing through my veins from my head to the tips of my toes.

Rhys still held me tight as I brought him down again, and when I finally removed my mouth from him he didn’t even let me straighten before he came down onto the floor with me and grabbed the back of my head, pulling me into a deep, dizzying kiss. His tongue danced inside my mouth, cleaning up the traces of him he’d left behind. When he finally pulled away, we were both gasping for air.

“I always forget how good you are at that,” he said, holding my face and tucking some of my hair behind my ear.

“I’m a woman of many talents,” I said. I lowered my head and kissed a line up his throat. “I do hope you plan to treat me just as well with your own set of talents.”

Rhys’s hand dragged down my torso and cupped his fingers between my legs, smiling in satisfaction at the wetness he’d already worked up in me. “Trust me darling,” he purred before pressing a sweet kiss to my lips. “I have plenty of plans.”


	6. A Work of Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre Knight gets a call from her hardworking husband, Senator Rhys Knight, and he asks her some interesting questions about her artwork. Rated M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6 was Phone Sex. A couple of firsts for me in this one: a modern AU in which Feyre is an art teacher and Rhys is a senator, and a third person POV fic for Feyrhys, which I’ve never done before. Enjoy!

 

 

The studio was filled with the sounds of children packing up their painting kits and chattering about their newest creations. Feyre Knight sat on a stool at the front of the classroom, idly scratching dried paint off of her apron as she watched her class filter out of the room. A small smile was on her face, and when the room was empty, she stood, stretched, and started going from station to station, cleaning up the brushed and water jars that her students hd forgotten to clean up.

When the task was done, she locked the doors and drew the curtains. Too much sunlight was distracting for her while she painted. She went back to the front of the room where she was working on her own canvas--a portrait of her husband, Rhys, bent over his paperwork with a glass of red wine an inch from his fingertips. His forehead was propped up in his hand, and his posture was tired. The look in his shadowed eyes, however, told her that whatever work he’d accomplished had been worth it.

She had been thrilled to catch this moment of him with her camera, since she so rarely caught him by surprise. Still, she’d known that the image wouldn’t be perfect until she’d painted it. She was happy with what she’d done so far, though she knew there was a lot of work left. Her favorite detail so far had been the way the dim office light from above had cast shadows over her shoulders that looked like wings extended from his back. She had blended them with the darkened background until it looked like Rhys was merging with the darkness. She had worried that it would seem too ominous, but she’d found that when she’d done it, it had suited her husband perfectly.

Feyre had just laid out a few more strokes of the deep red glow surrounding the lamp when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t bother to pull it out and instead pressed the button in her earpiece, allowing her to paint even as she spoke.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Hello, darling,” Rhys said from the other side. The sound of his voice sent a tremble through her bones. “Is class over?”

“About fifteen minutes ago,” she said.

“How were they today?”

“Just fine. Only one girl tried to paint another classmate’s face.”

“Progress!” Rhys chuckled.

Too distracted to paint while she hung on her husband’s words, Feyre leaned back and rested her hands in her lap. “How were your meetings?”

Rhys sighed. “Same as usual. Senator Keir is trying to push that new bill lowering estate taxes, but I think I have the others on the committee convinced that they’re necessary.”

“Everyone always sees things your way in the end,” Feyre said with a smile.

Rhys laughed. “I wish. Keir’s just sour that his daughter spends all her time lobbying against him. He should have known better than to take a position against reproductive rights with Mor as his daughter.”

Feyre pressed her hand to her mouth to subdue her laughter. “Too true. Where are you right now?”

“In my office. Alone. They’re bringing the car around soon to bring me home.”

“I’ll see you there. I’m just working on your birthday present.”

“Oh really, now?” Feyre could practically hear her husband’s intrigue through the phone. “Is it that portrait of me you’ve been promising for ages?”

“You’ll see,” Feyre said, slightly miffed that he’d guessed so easily.

“As long as it’s not one of those stiff-lipped ones they made me sit for when I was elected. I told them I’d prefer one of your paintings, but they said something nonsensical about ‘conflict of interest.’”

“Utter silliness,” Feyre agreed. “No stiff lips, I promise.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone and Feyre knew what was coming a second too late. “Are any other parts of me stiff?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she replied too casually. “Would you like that?”

“Of course. As a matter of fact, I’m feeling a bit . . . stiff . . . right now.”

“Are you?”

Rhys’s voice dropped into a low, seductive purr. “Tell me how you would paint that, darling.”

Feyre smirked and considered for a moment. “Well . . . first I would have to wet my brush and prepare the canvas.”

“Go on.”

“I have to make sure it’s nice and stretched out before me, so I can see _everything_.” Feyre’s eyes glazed over and she was no longer looking at the painting in front of her. Instead, she saw only the canvas in her mind, her husband’s body, splayed out before her. “I would test the canvas for wrinkles with my fingers all over. From the top to the bottom.”

Rhys’s voice was hoarse. “And once it’s smooth?”

“I’d have to choose the right brush. It would be very soft, so soft it would feel like feathers on your skin. And then . . . then I would have to get it wet. Very wet.” Feyre’s brush clattered to the ground as her hand slid down her past her own waistband, feeling for her own readiness.

“How wet, darling? Tell me how wet,” Rhys asked. She could hear his breathing intensifying through the phone and hers was doing the same as she rubbed herself.

“Dripping. Wet,” she gasped.

“Yes, I’m listening. Then what?”

“Then,” Feyre said, “I would take that brush, and I would run it up and down and up and down, letting the cloth soak up the extra wetness. Then I’d dip it in the nice, cool paint.”

Rhys hissed and Feyre could only imagine what he was doing. Her own finger swirled in her sensitive areas, and she only wished she could treat herself as expertly as Rhys did.

“I’d swirl the brush around, and around, and around . . .” Feyre said. “And then, when I knew it was ready, I would place that brush on the canvas and _stroke_.”

A broken groan came from her husband and she pictured him with his head on his desk, performing her words with his own hand. Her toes curled at the thought of it and she started to work herself even more thoroughly. “This is a slow process,” she rasped, finding it harder and harder to maintain the imagery as her own mind was being overcome with pleasure. “But . . . in the end . . . it’s worth it. And . . . it’s beautiful. So--beautiful.” She let out a tiny cry as she brushed her own sensitivity, and Rhys swore on the other end.

“God, Feyre, I want to touch you. I want to be near you,” Rhys said, giving up on the image they’d been sharing. “I wish you were here. Right now. On my lap. I would kiss you and touch you and make you feel _everything_. I would . . . I would paint you. With long, careful strokes. But I wouldn’t use a paintbrush, darling, I would use my tongue. And my fingers, and my lips, until you’re painted all over with my marks and no question remains that _you are mine_.”

Feyre bent forward as the intensity of her husband’s words spurred her on to take herself over. She whimpered and cried out as the pleasure rocked her and she had to grip onto the table to dear life. Her mind swirled with rainbow colors, and as she tried to catch her breath, she gasped, “Damn it, Rhys, I was trying to be subtle for your sake.”

Rhys laughed darkly, and Feyre couldn’t tell if he’d managed to get off, too. She guessed he’d held himself back given that he was still in his office, but Rhys had a tendency to surprise her. “Believe me, Feyre darling,” he said, “my staff is quite used to me seducing you over the phone by now.”

Feyre clapped a hand to her mouth and groaned in embarrassment. “Rhys!” she chastised.

“Don’t worry. As long as they don’t have to cover up any torrid affairs for me, they don’t care what you and I do.”

“Good,” Feyre said. “Because frankly, I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

Rhys laughed affectionately. “I’m glad to hear it. My driver is here, love. I’ll be home soon, and then we can see about making some real artwork.”

Feyre bit her lip. “I’m certainly looking forward to that.”

“So am I, love. So am I.”


	7. A Work of Art, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a naughty conversation on the phone, both Feyre Knight and her husband, Senator Rhysand Knight, are looking to unwind from a long day. Rated E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all asked me for a smutty sequel to the previous fic I wrote for Feysand Smut Week, so here we go! Please forgive the exposition at the beginning--I got a little carried away with the AU (which you might see more of in fics down the line).

 

After she’d managed to compose herself and come to the realization that she was getting no more work on Rhys’s portrait done, Feyre hung her smock on the hook by the door, grabbed her keys, and locked up the classroom. She jogged down the stairs and came out the side door of the flat, where Azriel was waiting, leaned up against the wall.

“Hey, Az,” Feyre said with a bright smile. “Stuck with me tonight?”

Azriel pushed himself off the wall and smiled back. “Blessed with you, tonight,” he corrected. “Cassian has to drive the senator home.”

“Drive?” Feyre asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Doesn’t someone else usually have that job?”

“Got sick,” Azriel replied. “So Cassian has to do it.”

Feyre shook her head. “I feel bad for both of them.”

“At least it isn’t Amren,” Azriel pointed out.  

Feyre laughed. “True! One hint of traffic and she’d insist they just get out and walk.” Feyre’s eyes shone at the thought of the head of Rhys’s security detail seizing him by the wrist and making him run the eight miles back to their home in McLean. He could do it, but he’d likely complain to her about it later.

She followed Azriel to the sleek black car where her driver waited. Rhys was a powerful and somewhat controversial senator, and when he’d been reelected his advisors had recommended that Feyre have her own security as well. She had protested soundly, but when she’d been presented with the number of ways people might try to influence Rhysand by endangering her, she’d reluctantly agreed. She was well-known in her own right--having joined the military to escape poverty in the upper reaches of Appalachia, she and her fellow soldier (then-fiancé) Tamlin Springer were taken as POWs during their first tour of duty. That was when she’d met Rhysand.

Rhys Knight was from a long line of senators and politicians, but he’d chosen business for himself and done exceedingly well designing and marketing a communication device more reliable and versatile than Bluetooth. It was adored by the general public and had made Rhys millions, but he’d channeled that money into humanitarian efforts in war-torn areas. But, under the guise of aid, he’d also been equipping allies with his devices and helping turn the tide of the war. It was at this point that he’d been captured too, and he’d survived by agreeing to design equipment for the enemy. Of course, his designs were flawed and faulty, intended to hinder and not help, but few had known this stateside. Feyre’s three-month-long captivity had ended in her getting hold of the enemy’s biological weapons and weakening them enough for Tamlin to kill their leader and Rhys to get them all out alive. Tamlin and Feyre had been awarded Purple Hearts, but Rhys had had to undergo a trial to prove that he had not aided the enemy after all.

It had taken a long time for all the information to come out in the open, and in the meantime, Tamlin had convinced Feyre to participate in a television series documenting their return to civilian life. It had been a total disaster. Feyre’s PTSD and subsequent breakup with Tamlin--at their wedding, nonetheless--had been plastered on the covers of tabloids across the nation. Rhysand, a first-term senator by that time, had found her being swarmed by the paparazzi in a park and had escorted her to his home, where she’d finally been given the space she needed to recover. It had not been an easy process whatsoever, but Rhys had helped her regain her independence and set her on the path to her own humanitarian work. Now, years later, Feyre was finally healed and she and Rhys lived happily. The shadows of the past still lingered sometimes, and the press often took advantage of their past traumas to raise doubt on both of their current endeavors, but it was nothing they hadn’t learned to handle. And Rhys was a talented senator, adored and respected by his constituents, who were quick to support him over his fellow Senator, Michael Keir.

It was a good life they’d made for themselves, Feyre thought as she slipped into the back of the car. Azriel slid in on the other side, but he didn’t try to make small talk as they were driven away from Feyre’s loft space near American University and across the river toward their home down a wooded road. Feyre liked the isolation, and she remembered the days before she’d married Rhys when she’d walked or biked through McLean or even into the Palisades, just for the independence and the fresh air. When she’d lived with Tamlin in Spring Valley, she

hadn’t been able to get far before he or the press would find her and she’d be forced back home. Of course, her freedom was again restricted these days, but she’d seen it as a trade-off for the utter happiness she had with Rhys.

The car pulled up to their home, which Rhys had named Velaris after a Latin motto he’d learned in college--something about secrecy or privacy--and Azriel opened the door for Feyre. She stepped out and was surprised to see Rhys’s car already there. How he’d managed to beat her here from the Capitol was beyond her. But then she saw Cassian leaning against the car, looking far too pleased with himself.

“What did you do, fly here?” Feyre called, planting a hand on her hip.

“Something like that,” Cassian said with a wolfish grin.

“Who’s on duty tonight?” Feyre asked the two bodyguards.

They glanced at each other. “Amren,” Azriel said, shifting his stance.

“Good. She knows how to mind her own business.”

Cassian howled with laughter as Feyre walked past them up the three marble stairs into the stone-laid house. She sighed in relief when the door clicked shut behind her.

“Rhys?” she called, hanging her jacket on a hook near the door. She jogged up a couple of the stairs in front of her to check for him upstairs, but she didn’t hear him moving around.

“I’m here, darling,” Rhys replied.

Feyre climbed down the stairs and went to the right, their main sitting area with a cathedral ceiling hung with multi-colored glass-blown lights. Rhys was behind the bar across the room, already shaking up something for them to share. She raised her eyebrows at the shot of whiskey he’d clearly already taken. Rhys followed her gaze and said, “If Cassian had just driven you home, you’d need one, too.”

Feyre slipped into the kitchen with him and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I believe you,” she said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “We left at the same time, you’re twice as far as me, and you still beat me here.”

Rhys’s eyes were still a bit wide with shock. “I’ve never seen someone get through traffic like him. And I don’t hope to again any time soon.”

Feyre laughed and placed her forehead on his chest. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped an arm around her back while he set the bottle of Bailey’s he’d been holding down on the counter. Feyre eyed it and the other liquids out on the counter and asked, “What are you concocting?”

“Something new I think you’ll like,” Rhys answered, releasing her so he could get back to work. “Bailey’s, amaretto, and a touch of Kahlua.” Feyre watched him as he mixed it expertly.

“Sound amazing,” she said. “What’s it called?”

He handed her a glass and clinked his against it. “Taste it first and then I’ll tell you.”

Feyre shook her head and laughed, but she lifted the glass to her lips and sighed as the creamy, coffee-and-nut drink slid down her throat. She hurried to take another sip almost immediately.

“Do you like it?” Rhys asked, watching her intently as she licked some foam from her lips.

“Yes,” Feyre said emphatically. “I want ten.”

Rhys’s violet eyes danced with laughter, and he said, “I know I’m talented, darling, but that might be a tall order.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t asked what the drink is called.”

Feyre made a face even as she took another sip. “Fine. What’s it called?”

Rhys set his glass down and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “An Orgasm.”

Feyre almost choked on the sip she’d taken but managed to get it down. She fought to keep her composure, because she _knew_ Rhys had been trying to throw her off like he had earlier, and she was determined to win this time. “I’m not sure which is better,” she said smoothly. “This--” she lifted her glass, “or a real orgasm.”

Rhys’s mouth pressed into a thin line and his nostrils flared as his eyes bored into her. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, his voice low and measured.

Feyre met his gaze with equal strength. “Maybe.”

Rhys snatched the near-empty glass from her hand and slammed it on the counter before sweeping her up in his arms and pinning her against the black wood cabinet behind her. His kissed her fiercely, deeply, prying open her mouth with his tongue while his hand tangled in her hair. He groaned as he tasted the drink in her mouth and she kissed him back with the same passion.

She wrapped her legs around him, freeing his hand to run up underneath her shirt and release the front-clasped bra she was wearing. Feyre groaned as her breasts, already heavy with desire, were freed and caressed by her husband’s skilled hand.

He gave up on her breasts too soon and whirled her around to plant her on a counter further in the kitchen. Once she was settled, he began work unbuttoning her jeans and slowly rolling them down her thighs, kissing the skin on her legs as he went. Before he ducked out of reach, she seized the shoulders of his pressed white shirt and pulled it over his head, likely loosening buttons in the process. Now he wore only skin-tight black Under Armor the same shade as his hair, and he held her legs as he ripped the jeans off her ankles. Slowly, he kissed lines up each of her legs, stopping far out of range of where she wanted him to kiss her most.

“I told you I’d paint you, Feyre,” he murmured roughly against her skin.

Feyre pulled the curtain down on the small window behind her and then finished taking off her blouse and her bra, baring herself completely before Rhys. He rose up slightly to steal another kiss from her lips, but then he grabbed her thighs and adjusted her on the counter so he could spread her wide.

He didn’t even let her brace herself before he started feasting on her, and a broken cry erupted from her lips at the shock of him there, licking her fast and hungry. He held her legs firmly so that she couldn’t writhe away, so she settled instead for bracing her fingers on the marble counter behind her and tipping her head back, seeing stars behind her closed eyelids.

“Rhys! Rhys, please,” Feyre panted. “I don’t want--I don’t want--”

“Yes, darling?” he asked, pulling back but not removing his face from between her legs.

She seized his hair and gripped tight. “I don’t want to come without you inside me!”

Rhys’s head dropped down and his shoulders heaved. “As you wish, my love.”

He stood and lifted her again, and as he carried her upstairs she peeled off his shirt and tossed it down the stairs behind them. She kissed him frantically all the while, her fingers marking him all over.

When they reached their bedroom, Rhys laid her across the bed and quickly undid his trousers and boxers, and Feyre gripped the coverlet tightly as he mounted the bed over her, poised to enter her at any moment.

He didn’t, though. Instead, he took her left forearm, marked with the tattoos she’d received through her military service, and kissed them slowly. Then he took her right forearm, where she’d received a tattoo to celebrate her recovery and their marriage, and kissed that even more slowly. He bent over her and Feyre bucked her hips, trying to join them together, but Rhys evaded her and sucked on her breasts instead, causing her to arch her back and moan as his tongue flicked her nipples.

He took her by surprised by inserting two fingers into her as he kissed her, and she almost bit his lip in surprise. But her hips moved against him all the same, urging him to rub her and stroke her where she wanted it most. Once again, he drew right to the precipice of pleasure before withdrawing his fingers and lifting them up. “Taste, Feyre,” he rasped. Feyre opened her mouth and he slipped his fingers in, letting her lick her own slickness off of him.

She surprised him, though, by sucking, hard, on the fingers in his mouth. He hissed in pleasure, and Feyre reached her hand between them to grab onto his length and direct it toward her throbbing opening.

“Impatient, are you?” Rhys asked, his voice strained. Feyre released his fingers from her mouth and kissed him sloppily, and then they joined, hard and fast. Feyre moaned loudly into Rhys’s mouth, wrapping her arm around the back of his neck to hold him close to her. He pounded against her, making up for the tension that had started between them earlier on the phone and rising to the challenge she’d posed to him in the kitchen. The bed below them whined with the force of their lovemaking.

“God, Rhys!” Feyre cried. Tears of pleasure streamed down her face as her husband ravaged her, making her forget where and who they were as the world diminished to only them, only their bodies, moving in harmony and creating a symphony of pleasure.

Feyre cried out again as, at last, her climax rocked through her body and her legs latched around Rhys’s back, urging him as deep within her as he could go. Her core tightened around him, and she frantically gasped for breath as it hit her, again and again, until she knew that he’d brought her through not just one, but two orgasms one after another. Just as her second one was ending, he was released himself, and he let out a long, satisfied groan as he collapsed on top of her, making a pillow for her head out of her swollen breasts.

“Oh, my love,” he moaned into her skin. “Oh, Feyre, my darling.”

“Is that drink magic or something?” Feyre asked breathlessly, still panting for breath.

Rhys laughed, and Feyre felt it in her bones. “Hmm, call me conceited, but I think it’s just us.”

“After that, I think we’re both entitled to a little conceit,” Feyre said.

Rhys grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “You may be right, darling. You may be right.”  


	8. Silken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhys have had a busy season, and they’re looking forward to some time alone in the cabin to unwind . . . and Rhys gets a little creative. Rated E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one for Smut Week! The prompt was Blindfold/Wing Kink. This fic contains bondage so it might not be everyone’s taste. 

 

 

Finally, an escape.

The last several weeks had been torture, with nothing but politics and trade agreements and peace negotiations. Rhys and I had been neck-deep in it, and at long last we had finally managed to claw our way out and pass the reins to Mor for a few days. We’d both started to get horribly cranky, and Mor had practically shoved us out of the House of Wind when the first opportunity arose. I still couldn’t accurately describe the overwhelming relief and ecstasy I’d felt when Rhys and I had leapt off the balcony hand-in-hand to fly together to the cabin in the mountains, far away from our responsibilities and duties.

In the cabin, we didn’t have to be the High Lord and High Lady. We could just be Feyre and Rhys. We could just be together.

My knees wobbled as we set down in the meadow in front of the cabin two days after we had left Velaris. Rhys’s arm snaked around my waist and he held me up, pressing a kiss to my mussed hair.

“Are you even tired?” I griped as I buried my face in his chest.

He laughed in his throat. “I just have more practice, darling. You’ll get your endurance up, one day.”

“Well, you’re cooking, then,” I muttered, pushing away from him to slog into the front door of the manor. I inhaled deeply at the familiar, comforting smell and stumbled over to the couch, throwing myself down on my back dramatically. I hadn’t shifted yet, so my wings were sprawled across the room, off-kilter and aching with exertion.

“And I thought I was dramatic,” Rhys mused as he took in my wilted appearance.

I rolled my head to the side and looked at him, unamused. “Get over here,” I ordered.

Rhys stuffed his hands into his pockets and meandered over to me, levitating two mugs of molten chocolate nearby him. I perked up a bit and he said, “The house had them ready. It’s gotten to know your tastes, darling.”

I wriggled upright to take the mug from him, but he shook his head. “Sit up,” he said. “I’m a bit chilled from our flight.”

I raised an eyebrow but obliged him, and he slid behind me on the couch, positioning me between his bent knees and propping me against his chest. I shuddered a bit as our spread wings nudged each other, but we quickly found a comfortable position. Rhys summoned a thick woolen blanket and spread it out over us, finally floating the mug over into my hands. I took a sip and sighed in contentment as the beverage warmed my insides.

“Better, darling?” Rhys asked before he lightly kissed my temple.

“Perfect. I want to stay here forever.”

“I think my legs might fall asleep.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not a bit.” Rhys’s arms banded around my waist and he held me close until I was securely cocooned in his embrace. His face dropped down until it was tucked in the crook between my neck and shoulder. “Cauldron, I needed this.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. “What are we going to do with ourselves with all this free time?”

Rhys shifted and I melted as his lips met my skin. “I have a few ideas. Or a lot.” His lips traveled up the side of my neck until he kissed my ear. He nipped my earlobe slightly and I writhed against him.

The exhaustion that had plagued me from our flight was quickly slipping away from the magic in the chocolate, and after I took another sip I floated it off onto the coffee table so that I wouldn’t have to twist out of Rhys’s arms.

“I’ve missed holding you,” he whispered into my ear. “I’ve missed being with you, just the two of us. No interruptions, no intruders.” He shifted his hips against my back and I writhed again in response. One of the hands he’d wrapped around my waist slipped down and started running up and down the inside of my thigh.

“I don’t think we’ll have either of those two things this week,” I said. I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth. The more his hand stroked me, the more I longed to be completely bare before him--no flying leathers or blankets or clothing of any kind between us. I let him go on a while before I said, “Rhys . . . Rhys, I want you. Can we please . . .?”

I felt him smile against my neck. “The bedroom, darling?”

I whimpered. “Please.”

Rhys’s arms tightened around me again and he winnowed us to the bedroom, which was toasty-warm and prepared for us. We stood upright, still against each other, but I took the chance at freedom to tuck my wings in and spin around so I could draw a sweet, slow kiss from his mouth.

He groaned a bit and his hands wasted no time in undoing the buttons down my back as he dove deeper into my mouth. I unfolded my wings to make it easier to get my shirt off, and when it was gone Rhys’s hands gripped my breasts and squeezed until I moaned into our kiss. I felt him hard between us and I ran my hand up underneath his shirt, feeling his taut muscles and smooth skin.

“Feyre,” Rhys grunted. “Feyre, my love. There’s so much I want to _do_ to you . . .”

“Likewise,” I gasped, attacking his throat with my mouth. When his fingers dug into my lower back I said, “Day one . . . day one is yours. Whatever you want, Rhys.”

“Do you mean it?” Rhys asked, pressing as close to me as he could manage.

I nodded, clinging to his chest as he layered kisses over my brow and my face. “Tell me what you want.”

Rhys’s leg shifted so that it was between my thighs, and I began to relieve the itch that had built up in my core by grinding against it. “I’m afraid you won’t like it,” he admitted, his voice tense with desire and nervousness.

“What do you mean?” My grinding slowed, and I tilted my head up to look at him. “Just tell me.”

Rhys sucked in a breath. “I want to pleasure you, Feyre. I want to make you beg, and scream, and--” He choked, and I realized he was blushing. “Cauldron, I love it when you scream.”

“Hmm, I’ve learned most of your tricks. How do you plan to make me scream?” I purred, nuzzling his neck.

“I want . . . I want to tie you up and cover your eyes so you have no idea what’s coming. And I want you to know the true joys of Illyrian wings.” He ran a finger up my sensitive membrane and I sagged against him as the thrill ran through me. When I didn’t straighten again, Rhys asked, “Feyre?”

“Oh,” I said.

“We don’t have to.”

“I know.” I licked my lips and considered it. I’d spent plenty of time a prisoner in my life, but that had been years ago. And Rhys . . . I trusted my mate more than anyone else in the world. And given what he himself had been through . . . I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

In fact, it sounded like he planned to do the exact opposite.

“All right,” I said simply.

Rhys stiffened in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said with a nod. “I trust you.”

Rhys’s violet eyes met mine and my heart flared with the intensity of feeling behind them. Then he lowered his face to mine and kissed me with excruciating love and gentleness, until I nearly melted into a puddle on the floor. “I love you,” he murmured when he was done. “Now, climb on the bed.”

I did as he said and laid back, watching him as he climbed above me, straddling my waist. I could see the protrusion in his pants and I had half a mind to reach out and tease him, but he had already collected my wrists in his hands and started tying them to the headboard with a silken scarf he’d summoned. “Not too tight?” he asked. I gave a quick tug and shook my head. Rhys shimmied off of me and surveyed my body. “We’ve forgotten your pants,” he said. He bent down and kissed my navel, then worked his way slowly down my body, removing my already damp underthings as he rolled my pants down my thighs. He pulled my pants off one ankle first and then used another silk scarf to tie my foot to the bedpost.

“Feet, too?” I asked in surprise.

Rhys paused. “If that’s all right.”

My face warmed as I thought of the possibilities. “Of course.”

Rhys finally had both my legs bare and secured, and he leaned back to examine his work. I was completely bare before him, my black wings spread out behind me just as my body was spread before my mate. Rhys bit his lip and sent me an image of myself through our mental connection. I gasped in wonder. “Rhys, I like it already,” I said.

Rhys grinned. “Excellent. Now the blindfold.” He pulled up near my head one last time to tie silk around my brow, thick enough so that there was no way I could cheat and see through it. When he was sure I was sightless, he kissed my mouth and whispered onto my lips, “Are you ready, darling?”

“Velaris is the word again,” I said, remembering the last time we’d danced on a dangerous line. “But I trust you.”

“Velaris it is.”

Rhys moved away from me, and I tried to predict where he might choose to touch me first. I couldn’t feel his weight on the bed anymore, so I wondered if he was letting me anguish while he removed the rest of his clothes.

I cried out when Rhys winnowed on top of me and bit down on my breast before I could prepare myself. His hands were everywhere--running up my ribs, gripping my tight, trailing down my hips, as he had his way with my breasts, kissing and sucking and biting until they were throbbing with sensation. One of his hands reached down my body and I moaned loud as he slipped two fingers inside of me, taking advantage of the wetness I’d already worked up for him. I tried to arch into the touch, but Rhys kept me pinned down, swallowing my moans with his fierce and relentless kisses.

He was not gentle, but I loved it. His hand thrust in and out of me and soon he added a third finger, eliciting yet another groan from me. When he shifted I could feel his stiff length pressed against my abdomen. My hands tugged at the bonds on instinct as I longed to grab it, but I only succeeded in rattling the headboard. Rhys thrust his hand into me one more time and I fracture around him, letting out a ragged moan as the pleasure wracked my body. “Rhys, Rhys, Rhys,” I gasped, desperately wishing I could grab him and hold him and frustrated that I couldn’t. “Rhys, let me have you.”

My mate’s head bent beside mine and he murmured, “Where do you want me, Feyre?”

“In my--in my mouth. Cauldon, Rhys, please! I feel you, I just--can’t--”

I inhaled deeply as the pressure of Rhys’s weight on me briefly released. But I realized that he was only turning around. I felt his knees press into the bed just under my arms, narrowly avoiding the membrane of my wings there. Then I felt him lower himself down, and--there.

I latched onto Rhys’s length with my mouth and sucked, and he barked out a vicious curse. But he stayed there at just the right height for me to take him as deep as I could. Meanwhile, he trailed kissed down my body and paused just beneath my navel. I cried out around his cock as he sucked on the pearl between my legs, drawing out exquisite pleasure as his hands and his body had me pinned entirely beneath him. I was drowning in the glorious taste of him and I lost all sense of up and down as he kissed and sucked and licked between my legs. When the next wave of pleasure hit me, I pulled off of him, afraid that I would hurt him in my ecstasy.

Rhys pulled away from me and I whimpered. I’d been unable to get him off, hands tied as they were. He did not seem at all worried, however. He turned around one last time and this time I felt his weight on the bed between my legs. I could already tell what he was planning.

“Yes, Rhys, please!” I cried. “Just . . . take me! Fuck me.”

Rhys snarled and I released a long, loud groan as he buried himself inside me. But once there, he did not continue as I’d hoped he would.

“What are--what are you waiting for?” I demanded, my voice petulant with want.

“Patience, darling,” he purred. He was panting for breath, too, but the sound only made me desire him more.

I was not prepared when his hand reached out and stroked a long path up the membrane of my left wing. Unrestrained, both wings jerked in response--but I was more surprised by how my core tightened around Rhysand reflexively. “C-Cauldron!” I spat. “Do that--do that again!”

Rhys laughed darkly and obeyed, repeating the gesture on the other side. My quivered against him as the ripples surged through me. At least, Rhys began to move in me, alternating between thrusting deep and stroking my wings, creating a new rhythm that I’d never yet experience with him. Soon, he was doing both at once, and the earth-shattering euphoria that gripped my body had tears of ecstasy streaming down my face. “Rhys!” I moaned, my hands straining at my bonds.

“Feyre, look at you,” he said. “You’re glorious.” He grunted as he thrust deep into me one more time. At long last, the dam burst within me, and I let out a piercing shriek as the climax swept me over a cliff so forcefully I felt like I was freefalling. Rhys did not stop moving within me through it all, and he panted with exertion through his climax as I gasped for breath and struggled for coherent thought.

My legs dropped to the bed as Rhys severed my bonds, and on instinct my legs pressed together and curled into my body as I trembled like a child. My arms tucked into me, too, as soon as they were freed. My wings were gone, as I’d lost the energy and focus I needed to stay shifted. It didn’t make a difference when Rhys removed the blindfold because my eyes were squeezed so tight.

“Feyre,” Rhys murmured, sliding onto the bed beside me. “Feyre, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

I let out a shuddering breath and managed to shake my head. “No. No, Rhys, I’m fine.” I swallowed. “More than fine. Just . . . a bit wrung out.”

Rhys laughed, and I did not imagine the relief in it. “Oh, my love,” he crooned, gathering me into his arms. He dabbed at my forehead with a wet cloth, and I jerked in surprised when he summoned warm socks directly onto my feet. I had no energy to resist as he wrapped me in the wool blanket from earlier and lifted me to cradle against his chest. He’d found pants for himself, I noticed, as he carried me out to the couch again. He sank down onto it and nestled me onto his lap. “More chocolate?” he murmured, kissing my nose.

I hummed in agreement. “Yes, please. And cookies.”

Rhys smiled, and the brightness of it swept me away. “Of course.” He ran his thumb over my shoulder in a soothing stroke as I drank the chocolate and nibbled on chocolate. “Did you enjoy it, love?” he asked quietly, running his nose along my neck.

I nodded and tilted my head to give him better access. “I did. It’s definitely not an everyday thing, but . . . I liked it.”

Rhys kissed my cheek. “I’m glad.” He paused and let me take another drink, never stopping his gentle caresses. “And who knows?” he whispered in my ear next. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you have your revenge.”

My cheeks heated at the very thought of it. “We’ll have to see about that,” I said, and though my tone was teasing, the uncertainty in my voice was real. “I’m happy with the old-fashioned way, too.”

“Whatever way it is, I’m happy with _you_ , Feyre,” Rhys said firmly. “And as far as I’m concerned, we never have to do that again if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you,” I said, relaxing into him more.

“But,” he said, and his voice was a wicked whisper now.

“But?” I asked. He pinched my side wickedly and I cringed away, giggling.

“But I certainly did enjoy hearing you scream like that.”

I backhanded his upper arm. “Gloat too much and I’ll hold it in next time.”

“Don’t say such wicked things,” Rhys said, his eyes sparkling.

“You love it,” I countered.

Rhys took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted it up to face it. “I love you,” he corrected. “Forever and ever.” And he tipped my chin up and kissed me sweetly until we both tasted of nothing but cookies and molten chocolate.


End file.
